Another Taste of Devouring Rush
by pacificbluegirl
Summary: Ziva's sent out on a special assignment only to come back shaken up, battered and bruised. It will take all of the team, their entire family, to finish the job – together, but complications arise and nothing appears to be quite what it seems as all of a sudden Tony appears to be knee deep in trouble too... Team fic with Tiva.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: _Another Taste of Devouring Rush_**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own NCIS or its characters.

**Author:** me, Malin, pacificbluegirl

**Rating:** T

**Summary: **Ziva's sent out on a special assignment only to come back shaken up, battered and bruised. It will take the entire team, their entire family, to finish the job – together, but complications arise and nothing appears to be quite what it seems... Team fic with Tiva.

**Authors note:** After mainly writing band fic (McFly) and the past three years hardly even doing that due to other commitments (Law School), I have to admit that I feel slightly rusty returning to this world and the challenges within it, but I am excited and lately very inspired, and I'm hoping that a few of you will want to join me. Timingswise this is post Somalia and Mr and Mrs Cockblock (aka Ray and EJ... you can tell I'm a fan (of sarcasm)) but I suppose before the season finale.

I'm quite wordy. I don't really do short chapters. It's not my style. Coffee breaks mid chapter might be a good idea.

Enjoy – and if you do, I'll be happy, happy if you review.

* * *

**Chapter one**

A grey, dull band of light is moving slowly across the floor as the wet afternoon is dripping down outside, pooling and rushing in streams down the wet city pavements. It's late afternoon and as the weak light escaping in through the windows in Abby's lab pushes ahead slowly as if shoved across the city by the hands of time and when the shadows has chased it so far that it is just about to touch the toes of Ziva's shoes a steaming hot cup of tea appears in her line of vision. She nods in gratitude and acceptance to Ducky and carefully cradles the hot drink as he straightens back up, steps back and lets his gaze linger on her for a moment.

"I will get you some toast," he says softly and ignores the way she shakes her head, no, where she's sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest and back against one of Abby's walls.

"That is not necessary, Ducky, but thank you..." she trails off, her vision just slightly lifted off the floor. The old man just smiles sadly at her and turns around to fetch her some anyway, and she knows.

Tony is hovering in the doorway, in the dark shadow of the storm that is pulling and tearing at the world outside. He hasn't said anything, hasn't stepped out into the dusky light since she slid down the wall, her limbs too tired, her head filled with a white static noise she can't quite push away. She knows he's there all the same, lingering, worrying, pacing. She rests her chin on one of her knees and he glides to the side, slowly, slowly still not quite approaching her, but never leaving her side either. Heavy raindrops are sliding down the glass of the windows and the light from Abby's computer makes them cast dark shadow streaks down her cheeks and if he didn't know better he would think she was crying. He almost wishes she was, because then chances were he would know what to do. He would push through whatever it is that is stopping him now, he'd hold her until she pushed him away, or maybe until she gave in and didn't push him away at all, and either way he'd be able to just act, do something, anything. He could never hold back when she cried, could never let his fear of rejection stand in the way of offering her comfort.

Ducky reappears with a plate with a slice of toast. Ziva smiles tiredly at him and repeats again that there is no need – she is not hungry. Tony thinks that she hasn't even touched her tea and Ducky nods but says that she ought to eat something anyway. He pats her shoulder before he once again turns to leave, but not before shooting Tony a long look, his eyes saying something Tony can't quite read. He wants to ask. He wants to know what they all know that he doesn't! Something is crawling under his skin, the same sensation as when he realised they'd left Ziva behind in Israel, the same feeling of helplessness and panic that brushes against his consciousness, just flutters past in his chest, whenever they're on a pursuit or at a crime scene and things go wrong and she disappears around a corner or out of his field of vision, if even for only a split second because he doesn't ever let her go far, doesn't ever lose her if he can help it. That's the only reason he's not storming upstairs now, into the bullpen, in search of Gibbs, maybe McGee and definitely answers. He doesn't want to let her out of his sight.

Ziva pushes the bread around the plate absentmindedly, but jumps and almost loses her grip on the plate as a car screeches past outside, the noise having startled his ninja. She's looking tired and he instinctively takes a big step towards her before he has time to process what the noise is. He stops in his tracks, freezes momentarily, looking at her, his green eyes wide with concern and he longs for her, wants to reach out and touch, to reassure himself that she's there, and whole, not broken.

"Wh-what..." Tony chokes on his own words, almost scaring himself with the way his voice cracks, unfamiliar-sounding in the once silent room, and he clears his throat awkwardly before trying again. He licks his lips, swallows hard, fighting against the lump that's lodged itself in his throat. "What did he do to you?" He's angry, and in his head his voice is a lot more steady but by the time the sentence tumbles off his tongue he doesn't think it sounds at all like he's intended. He wants to crack some sort of joke, masterfully puzzle his words together, create wit out of tragedy but it doesn't feel right and the way he's overprotective of her, and feels like it is his job to be just that and today he has somehow failed, eats away at any attempt at humour today.

Ziva turns her gaze towards him slowly, and takes in the way his eyes are clouded with concern, his features soft with care and his forehead wrinkled with confusion. She attempts a small smile, but he doesn't smile back and she briefly lets her mind wander, just for a split second, to that day in Tel Aviv, to harsh words and distrust, and how she wasn't sure of him – _of them_.

She's not sure of many things in this very moment. She sighs and wants to disappear; feel less, forget what she's seen, forget what she's done. Just escape. Without letting her mind linger on it though she knows it's there, the idea that if she did escape she would want, maybe need, Tony to come with her and it scares her that she's reached such a point. She's attached to him in so many ways, and as he cocks his head slightly, waiting, begging with his eyes for an answer, she can hear an echo of his words from Somalia in her head and knows she could not live without him either.

"I am fine, Tony", she says finally, distracted by her own thoughts still, by her own inner confession.

"You're scared." It's a statement, not a question, and she frowns at him, and can see how he's thinking that he shouldn't have said anything, that she will lash out at him, maybe laugh even and tell him he is being ridiculous, but she knows he is simply observing her and it is all he has.

"Not of what you think. I am not scared of him."

Thunder breaks across the sky outside, he shuffles closer to her, a defiant look on his face, like he's set on shielding her from the storm that's raging just outside their world, and she reaches out for him. She stretches her hand out for him to come down to her before she can register what she is doing or why exactly, and most importantly before she can contemplate how it will make her look (weak, dependent on him) and what it will make him think (that she is lying, to him, to herself; that she is indeed scared).

He sinks down next to her, glances at her face quickly, relieved that she's letting him in and letting him close. He knows he doesn't always do much to come across as someone that would like to be her shelter in the storm, and more to come across as a constant obnoxious seven year old on speed, but the idea was never, still, to make her doubt his dedication to her and to them; their team. He shifts slightly on his spot on the floor next to her, before reaching over, letting his fingertips brush lightly over her knuckles (grazed and an angry purple, bruises just starting to form) with a touch so feather light she sucks in a small gasp. The caress is over as suddenly as it began and she feels a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as he grabs the slice of toast, takes a large bite and waits until he's swallowed it before he utters a nonchalant "you done with this?" and before giving her a chance to reply adds a "I'll just help myself!" and a signature grin. He chews the bread slowly, his gaze still lingering on her and she watches him, back. She knows he's observant enough, though you wouldn't think so observing him most days, to assess her physical health from where he's sitting, propped up against the wall right next to her, warmth radiating through his crisp, white (expensive) dress shirt. She lets her smile grow as she takes in how he is momentarily relaxed knowing she has wished for him to stay, right there, with her.

Tony can feel his phone vibrate in his pocket, and despite ignoring the phone and whoever is calling, it still throws him back into reality and he is reminded of the fact that the working day is not over and any moment now someone could, and most likely will, walk in to disturb them. He finishes off her toast slowly, deep in thought. What did she mean?

"But you are scared of _someone_? Ziva I don't even know what's going on here. I need you to fill me in and I'll fix it. I'll fix whatever it is." The sincerity, and concern in his eyes, is something Ziva would pretend to be rare if asked. She would laugh dryly if someone praised him for being earnest and emotionally present, she would roll her eyes and claim he is as shallow as a shower, but truth be told she knew there was more to Tony than that. He had proved it to her, more than once, and in their line of duty she had to know that every day to trust him with her life, and her with his. She swallowed hard, the truth was that if anyone else would say to her that he was shallow and emotionally disconnected she would stand up for him in a heartbeat, her eyes would flash dangerously and she would bark at them to not underestimate him. It was all part of who they are together, as a team – the banter, the games, tricks and pranks. The remarks, the shoves, kicks and sarcasm. The flirting, the lingering touches, the looks...

The affection, dedication, loyalty and unstoppable need to protect and keep safe.

"What happened?" Tony asks again, more urgency seeping into his voice now and she snaps out of her own deep thoughts realising that she never did answer his question. "Please, Ziva," and he reaches out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

She's almost comfortable, right where she is though. She's with him, inside, the rain is pouring down outside still but she is warm and dry, in company that is familiar – company she sometimes claims is too familiar, but she does not have to return to her own thoughts, her own memories of the events of the day. She wants to reassure Tony, without actually having to speak any more of the matter. She is fine, after all. She will always be fine; has seen worse, done worse... been worse off. She feels so much better though, now that he's stayed with her, and she sighs, realising that she owes him, if not an explanation, then at least a final reassurance that she is in fact okay.

"Vance called me in late last night..." she starts and Tony frowns at her. In Tony's opinion, and let's face it, experience, most of Vance's ideas are bad ideas. "The CIA-" she continues and Tony cuts her short, can't stay quiet any more,

"Don't tell me...!" he twists around on the floor, now fully facing her, his arms flailing in the air, dramatically, "Please, tell me that punk isn't back? And cooking up plans with Vance, well that's just perfect... just brilliant..!"

"Punk? Tony, Ray isn't some disrespectful teenager."

"Okay scratch the teenager part. Still leaves disrespectful and it still doesn't mean I think he deserves to be anywhere near you! In fact I will gladly kick his ass all the way back to where he came from myself! Where is he?"

"Tony. This had, well has..." and Ziva sighs, closing her eyes momentarily, before opening them again, "nothing to do with Ray. Vance wanted me to help them. They suspected an internal leak at first, but came to the conclusion that the security breaches they had experienced were linked to a terrorist operation, something in the planning stages. I was not told much, should have asked... should have insisted to know exactly what would be going on but from the information released to me it did not seem too complicated. They had tracked him for months, said he always worked on his own and when they found the apartment he was operating out of they found pictures, Tony..."

He narrows his eyes at her, processing what she's told him. Her hands are absentmindedly rubbing up and down her own legs as she curls up tighter next to him, her body closing up but he holds her gaze and her eyes are big and deep, still open to him. Thunder breaks out across the sky, the lashes of rain hitting the pavement outside so hard that it appears to be sucked right back up into the angered sky again, and the bright white light of the lightening cuts across her face in the dim lab, making her dark pupils and long eyelashes draw him in, almost hypnotise him as the stark contrast to her still, more than usual, pale complexion almost knocks the breath out of his chest.

"Pictures of what?" and his voice his deep and calm now, his words rolling with the sound of the thunder.

"Pictures of me," she states and he notices how her eyes cloud over, like someone is stirring warm milk into strong hot chocolate, dots of gold dancing where sugar melts. He shudders at the thought of someone, anyone – a complete stranger to them, someone wanted by the CIA, keeping pictures of her. He shifts in his seat, for a second has to tear his eyes from hers as in his mind he curses this stranger for even daring to lay eyes on her, on _his Ziva_, and he's almost scared that she will read his mind, hear him refer to her in that way (and kill him for it, or at the very least break a few of his bones) and it isn't until she speaks again that he dares to look at her.

"They did not understand the connection, but thought that I could lure him out in some way if he had some sort of interest in me."

"They wanted to use you to get to him?"

"I do not know Tony. All know is that I was supposed to meet with an agent of theirs. But the meeting could never actually take place. The agent, he disappeared four days ago."

"What? Did they expect him to miraculously resurface at the promise of a date with you? Is it some CIA thing to be obsessed with you?" Tony ranted, deep down realising that he was not helping, but feeling like he would suffocate if he just sat there, saying nothing at all, with anger, _concern_, and frustration building up inside him.

"They think that the disappearance of the agent is connected in some way to this man. The meeting with me was set up via the internal agency diary, and confirmed by him, or someone, through an encrypted email sent from Agent Carter's phone. They deliberately set the meeting up in a place where their suspect would feel safe to get close to me, maybe even approach me – and if so, confirm his link to the disappearance as he would only know of the meeting that way."

"Judging by how you got back here," and Tony's eyes briefly scans over her bruised hands and arms, only allows himself a fraction of a second to look at the angry red and purple marks taking form on her neck, "he did more than approach you."

Ziva tugs at her sleeves, self-conscious all of a sudden, and shrugs. "I told you I am fine. I could take him, I had it under control..."

Something about the tone of her voice sets Tony on edge and he scoots, if possible, closer to her.

"If he had been alone, as Vance promised I believe I could have. But he was not. It was a long, narrow alleyway, behind a block of warehouses, seemingly abandoned and I got there just as the storm gathered above," she finds herself leaning against Tony now, is thankful for the fact that he is tactful enough to not make any slick remark, or make fun of her in this moment. She is happy to share his body heat as she remembers the way the wind picked up, angry, heavy clouds heaving with rain and tension above. The air was thick and humid and despite it being early afternoon she found herself wishing the street lights were lit as the clouds drained her world from daylight. It wasn't that she was scared of the dark, but she was aware of how unfamiliar the situation was. She felt out of her element, without her team, without back up.

"I could feel him around me. He was walking in a circle, just watching me and I was under strict orders to bring him in if I could, but I was not allowed to take him down. I could under no circumstances shoot him. I did not think I would need to."

"What about self-defence by paper clip? Please tell me that was allowed!"

"There appeared to be no need," she continued, and there was a hint of a smile lingering on her features before it faded and she continued. "He did not appear a threat, mainly fascinated by me if anything..." and she frowns, deep in thought for a moment and Tony watches her, wishing he could read her mind.

"Did he-?"

Ziva knows what Tony is about to ask, can almost smell the testosterone pumping through his veins as his jealous, overprotective mind imagines this stranger interacting with her. She interrupts him, not wanting to answer.

"It started to rain, so much rain Tony, and..." she's hesitating, Tony notes, but doesn't ask, doesn't want her to cut the story short altogether. "Something he said threw me off all of a sudden, I was no longer focused as I should have been." She appears regretful, and angry with herself. Tony wants to know what happened, exactly, but she doesn't let him ask before continuing. "If it had been just him, but there was two more then, two more men and I was too slow to catch my breath, unable to, as I fell onto my back," again, she is thankful he's not cracking any sort of jokes at this moment, and he can see it in her eyes and gives her a look as to say 'I'm not that much of a bastard' and she smiles at him, softly, it being her 'I know'.

"You know, it is strange, how my mind could play such tricks on me, bringing me back to such a far away place when nothing really was the same."

Tony thinks he knows what she's saying and he is not sure he wants to hear more then, not really, but at the same time cherishes any moment when she opens up about her past experiences. He knows that it is not healthy for her not to. It is not healthy for anyone.

"It was wet and cold, I struggled, but as the men pinned me down and the rain rushed over me I almost thought I was drowning."

She's sharing an awful lot for being her, and for it being him listening. At least in one go, and Tony wants to reach out and hold her hand, maybe. He thinks about what they have been through together in the past that has not changed so much between them as it has exposed what was almost instantly there between them. He knows all of a sudden that Gibbs is standing in the doorway, behind them. Without looking he can feel what is in his eyes. A quick, fleeting, light and angel like image of Kate burns behind his own eyes in that moment, knows that Gibbs is angry where he is standing, feeling like someone has taken something, stolen something precious from him – again.

He doesn't take her hand. He doesn't quite know what is stopping him, and it certainly isn't the silent presence of Gibbs (and not the ghost of Kate, lingering in that swift pause, between each beating of his heart). Instead he whispers, "you're safe", just under his breath and Ziva thinks she can hear the 'here with me' he's omitted. It is in a way an unusually intimate moment between them, and she knows too – she has after all, despite her bruised skin and torn clothes, not had the ninja knocked out of her, that their boss is standing just out of their field of vision. She wonders if Tony knows too, or if he wouldn't have said what he just did if he knew.

She knows she can't stare into Tony's concerned eyes forever, almost wants him to break the silence with something witty and insensitive if only to kick them out of this trance but he doesn't. He's uncharacteristically sensitive and she quietly finishes the story, tells him (and Gibbs, now) of how they struggled in the rain, how she fought when one of them drew the knife on her and leaves out the wandering, rough, hands and what exactly was said that distracted her in the first place.

"But wait, who was sent out there with you? Who was backing you up?" Tony asks as she finishes and she shakes her head.

"I... I was told-"

"He lied." Gibbs interrupts then, announcing his presence. "If I had known the fool was sending you out there on your own I would never have allowed it!" His words are sharp, angry, but his tone of voice is almost strangely soft, begging almost, of forgiveness maybe. Ziva nods, she knows Gibbs would not have risked her safety like that. "And restricting you in the way you could defend yourself, the bastard could have had you killed and I-

"Gibbs..."

"No, none of this is your fault Ziva." Gibbs takes another step towards them and Tony looks up at him from his spot on the floor, next to her.

"I let them play me. I was trained to handle more than three men! I could be ruthless when I wanted to, needed to. This time I was overpowered." There is a sadness in her voice that Tony does not like, but he doesn't know what to say, for what he thinks might be the first time in his life. Gibbs simply cocks his head slightly and looks at her before speaking again.

"What you used to need, is not what you need now. You can't compare who you needed to be then, and who you have become. Remember, Ziver, you are not disposable here, you're irreplaceable and you are allowed to care about your family in the same way."

Tony silently observes the exchange between his partner and his boss, his mind racing to try to keep up with it all. Gibbs is being so soft and stern at the very same time that he is absolutely convinced he must have missed something. There is something going on that he does not know about, something that has pissed Gibbs off enough to speak to Ziva in that way he only speaks to them when he momentarily steps out of the boss shoes and into the dad shoes.

"What about the guy? I saw him earlier, you brought one of them in!" Tony cuts in then, still trying to piece everything together.

"Yes," Ziva nods, "I managed to fight him off, I brought him in. He is in custody." She is short and down to the point, and Tony wants to ask how the hell she managed but there are more pressing matters and before he has a chance to ask she addresses the issue herself. "But the second man, and the suspect, the man the CIA wanted me to meet-"

"Sounds like he was more eager to meet you," Tony mutters, disgusted.

"Perhaps," Ziva considers, "he will get a second chance, and I will get a second chance at bringing him and his friend in."

Tony grits his teeth, angry at the thought of this guy still out there.

"Boss," he turns to Gibbs and heaves himself up off the floor, grimacing slightly as his joints protest.

"Getting old, Tony?" Ziva teases, and he extends a hand to her, helping her up too, and for the first time in what she thinks must be hours, she's actually ready to move from her spot on the floor.

Tony glares at her with mock annoyance, secretly enjoying that she's teasing him again. He notes that some colour has returned to her cheeks. He turns back to Gibbs once she's up and he's made sure she's stable on her own two feet. Only then does he let go of her hand, letting his hand find the small of her back instead and she doesn't mind the gesture, not today.

"So two of these jackasses are still out there somewhere? And we have one in custody?"

"I don't care what the Director says, and I do not give a crap about what CIA says, we are done playing this by any of their rules now," Gibbs says, determination and authority back in his voice, but the softness still lingering in his eyes when he's watching them. It flashes past quickly before his eyes turn stern and serious, "this might have been out of our jurisdiction to begin with, but the second they brought Ziva into this they made this my damn business!"

"Want me to interrogate him, boss?" Tony asks, and Gibbs recognises the anger flashing in his eyes.

"We might need him still breathing, to get anything out of him DiNozzo," Gibbs says and Tony almost smiles at how Gibbs can read him, knows how angry he is in that moment, knows that the movie quotes and jokes are out the window the second someone touches his partner.

"Oh yes, because you're known for your gentle approach yourself," Tony smiles at his boss and Gibbs ignores his comment.

"I'll speak to him, you two get McGee up to speed – and both of you," his eyes hardened, "you don't take any fucking orders from Vance or anyone else. Anyone wants anything done you run it by me, understood?"

"Yes boss!" Tony said and Ziva nodded.

As Gibbs turns around and walks back towards the elevator, on his way to let Abby know it's okay to reclaim her lab, and to have another word with Vance (he hasn't decided yet if that will include putting a bullet in his knee cap for sending out _his_ agent without his full permission) he calls back to them over his shoulder, "Ziva, I don't need to see you here for the rest of today, if you want to call it a day – if you do, it's the safe house tonight, Tony, you too!" then he disappears.

Tony turns to Ziva, Gibbs' question still hanging unanswered in the air. Ziva knows Gibbs was serious about Tony going too, and she wonders why, if maybe he knows... either way she is sure Tony doesn't know and she contemplates her options.

"You don't have to stay Ziva," he offers, thinking that's what she's considering and she shakes her head, chuckling.

"Have to? I want to. I am not leaving you to have all the fun without me," she winks at him but he can't let go of the feeling that there is something else than the opportunity for a good adrenaline rush that's keeping her there, with him. She starts walking towards the elevator and he hurries after her.

"Safe house? Why? I mean I can see why the boss would want you locked away, but me? Then again, he probably wants you to have a big, strong man guarding you, it's okay, I would be available for such-"

Ziva elbows him in the ribs as they step into the elevator and he falls silent with a huff and a wince. He rubs his ribs, glaring at her as she laughs, mocking him.

"Big and strong? You? I could crush you, blindfolded, with my hands tied behind my back!"

"Ah, I will retort with something very witty in just a moment Zee-vah, just give me a minute to imagine this kinky role play we have going on here first! Is there black lace involved or are you naked?"

* * *

"Sit!" Gibbs shouts across the room as Steven paces behind the table in interrogation. The blond man snickers at him, bravely. Cocky bastard, Gibbs thinks and looks up into the man's eyes, his features stony and serious. Steven Jenkins drops down onto the chair nonchalantly and raises his eyebrows in anticipation and question.

"You sound tense," he shoots Gibbs with a smug grin and the agent is losing his patience already – but is determined to not show it. He needs to get something, anything, and he's not known for ever not getting what he wants in the end. "Is this the best welcome party you've got on offer? I was expecting someone with better manners. Someone a bit nicer."

"You have five minutes to tell me what I want to know, or I let Agent David's partner loose in here, and with your little stunt this morning, as you can imagine you've pissed him off! Today, I can assure you, I _am_ the nice one."

Steven folds his arms across his chest, sinks back against the back of his chair. He stretches his legs out under the table, crosses his ankles and chuckles, amused, when Gibbs scolds and kicks his feet back. The chair shifts slightly and if he's rattled by the sudden forceful shove he doesn't show it. He simply shuffles forward in his seat, leaning on the table top instead, looks at Gibbs briefly before picking at his nails.

"Oh, _Very Special _Agent DiNozzo, he's still alive then is he? Fancy that..."

Gibbs narrows his eyes at the young man, slams his fist down onto the table top.

"Why the hell wouldn't he be?"

Steven seemingly ignores Gibbs' outburst and continues, almost as to himself, "...then again, the night is still young."

_To be continued..._

* * *

**AN: **Abby, McGee, Palmer and Ducky – all coming, I promise. In the upcoming chapters.

I wasn't going to post this tonight. Thought I would put it off for another day or two... but then I went to the gym for a couple hours, and I don't know about you but when I'm at the gym my head is full of Ziva. In a very non romantic way (ha, well okay maybe a little, come on she's hot...) but more in a "would Ziva be able to do another set of reps? Hell yes! So can I? Of course" kind of way. Anyway, so by the time I was done I was not only sweaty and gross (and hungry) but also set on posting this tonight. For Ziva, and my own sanity.

If you read it all, then thank you and well done! I know it was long... but didn't want to wrap the chapter up any sooner as it didn't feel natural. Anyone that got through it and liked it (or hated it) please review and let me know – what are you currently listening to? Who inspires you in the gym? What are your plans for the summer? Feel free to tell me any of that stuff too, in a review. ;)

Malin x


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS or its characters.

**A/N:** Thank you to **easylion**, **Meb,** **groovin, tivaandmcabby, juli, NiceStories, ncis-1001, ****ChEmMiE, Tiva lovah**, **ForeignMusicLyrics**, **MTGZ** and **Gabs** for reviewing and thank you to everyone else that has read and has joined this party through the various alert functions. Tell your friends!

I have my coffee and my warm, just out of the oven (yes!) cinnamon bun – all set to dive a little bit deeper into this strange case. Hope you are too! Let's go guys! :)

**Chapter two**

Darkness has fallen over the city and the storm clouds are still hovering, almost clinging to the roofs and tree tops outside, a grey dull vibrant rain lashing out at the world beneath like it never intends to stop. The office has fallen silent and Tony sits bent over his desk flicking through the report Ziva had typed up, eyes empty and shoulders tense just a couple of hours earlier. He had pretended to be deeply immersed in his own paper work, but truth be told he was mostly watching her as she with immaculate precision and professionalism – he knew, could recognise that look on her face any time, put in print, minute by minute what had taken place. She had printed it, still in complete silence, placed the pages neatly in a folder and left it on Gibbs' desk from which he had stolen – scratch that, _borrowed_, said folder when she left the room.

Part of him felt like he was prying now, scanning the pages under the glare of his desk light with the hum and crackle of the thunder chasing light, pulsating like a live current across the skies every now and again. At the same time, invading Ziva's privacy was one of many things he did in a masterly fashion, and he desperately wanted answers to things he didn't quite dare ask her.

Since Somalia – and just the thought makes his tongue taste like copper and his stomach drop, he had felt like he had gained access to knowledge about her, knowledge he had gathered and kept all along, but in his somewhat childish ways had locked away and ignored. He had tapped into her world, and possibly his own feelings for her, in a way that left him feeling cold and empty whenever she wasn't near enough and though he refused to fully investigate and analyse what that meant he had along with it gained a sense of responsibility. There were certain things he simply did not bring up, not because he didn't care or because he didn't think they mattered, but because he knew she would feel uncomfortable.

He rubbed his eyes and turned another page over, grasping at the information as he went along, storing away fractions of her report in his head, not sure what he was looking for – he just knew that he wanted to know what exactly it was he was protecting his partner from. She had told him most of it before, in the lab, and he felt almost silly as he felt pride, and something else he couldn't quite name, swell inside him when he noted parts which she had told him in greater detail, that in the report were sterile and impersonal. But then again, it was meant to be, and he knew that but it still made him feel special; like she trusted him. Her trust was after all something he had learnt the hard way, was not something he should take for granted. It didn't matter, it really didn't, how everything had gone down, whose fault it was and what got them there, as Tony looked up at her temporarily vacant desk, another orange ball of light, her own desk lamp, illuminating it – he just cared about where the journey got them and the fact that they got out on the other side,_ together_.

With the room falling dark, the silence enveloping him and the only source of light, and sign of life, being the lit desk lights, dotted around the space Tony almost felt like he was looking out over a starry night sky. His fingers are trailing over the sentences on the page before him, but he's momentarily no longer concentrated on what they actually say as his view of the office reminds him of the clear African desert sky he had once looked up into. He remembers having felt like nothing else had ever looked, or felt so big to him before. Now, in hindsight he isn't sure whether it was the impact of the starry sky, the beauty of it, or the feeling of accomplishment, of having tricked death, his own and Ziva's, that filled his heart with awe but it doesn't matter. He had been lying spread out on his back, an army fleece blanket spread underneath him. The heat of the day was still lingering in the air, as if trapped between the tarmac and the cold night sky and he could still taste his own fear, a thirst he wasn't sure would ever be cured and sand. The sky was clear, so very clear and if it had not been for the millions of guiding lights in the heavens above it could just as well have been the ocean suspended over them. He heard Gibbs shout orders across the booming sound of the helicopter having just landed at the small base – he was so tired he didn't even know where they were any more and he momentarily closed his eyes, feeling the soft skin of Ziva's wrist with the tips of his fingers where he had wrapped his hand around her limp arm, didn't ever want to let go (ever again). He could feel heat radiating off Tim where he lay next to him, he glanced in his direction, watching the younger agent's chest rise and fall slowly out of the corner of his eye. The ground was hard but predictable and constant, under his head and shoulders, he blinked tiredly as he let his gaze travel back to the black sky fingers prodding the underside of Ziva's thin wrist, feeling her pulse beating against his skin... _Home_, his vision blurred, the world tilted and spun dangerously, the friendly lights in the sky fell over him and all he remembers is thinking he wanted to go _home_.

Gibbs strides into the bullpen, and almost floats into Tony's line of vision, breaking the spell of his memory, the sky before him no longer a sky but their familiar office basked in dull, warm light. Gibbs notices his glossy eyes but doesn't say anything as he approaches Tony's desk.

Tony clears his throat, eager to occupy his mind with something, anything apart from the flood of memories. "Boss, what do we-"

Gibbs comes to a halt in front of his desk, wants to send Tony home, but wants to keep him right where he is too, all at the same time. He snatches the file from under Tony's limp hands – he had momentarily forgotten all about it, and yelps when it's tugged from his grip. He had not had time to read it all yet, and he still hadn't found what he was looking for. He grimaces as he realises he's lost his opportunity.

"I was reading that, boss," Tony shoots him a grin and Gibbs glares at him tucking the file under his arm.

"Was that what I told you to do?" he barks, and Tony lowers his eyes a little, but only for a second before his mischievous mind kicks back in.

"No, but you didn't exactly tell me not to do it either...!" the senior field agent retorts and his grin is replaced on his face just as soon as it faltered. "Did you get anything out of our resident dirt bag?"

"I thought I was the resident dirt bag here?" Gibbs asks, his eyes glinting in the light from Tony's desk lamp and Tony smiles again. "Ziva's still here then?" Gibbs continues and Tony nods.

"McGee took her down the hall for some coffee, girly gossip and right about now they're probably braiding each other's hair..."

"Good, find her DiNozzo, I need to speak to her!"

Tony calls a "yes boss – right away boss!" after their fearless leader as he climbs up the stairs, taking two steps at the time. Tony knows where he's headed – the Director's office. He stands, straightens his suit and contemplates just calling Ziva, but decides against it. He could use a break from this room. He's well aware that Gibbs avoided his question about how the interrogation went, and the sense of urgency that's lingering in the air in stark contrast with the lack of concrete orders for him to work with is giving him a headache and he swallows hard, trying to ignore the ball of nausea that's rolling around in his stomach. He's nervous, he's just not exactly sure why. He pockets his cell phone, just in case, and takes on the one task he's been given for the moment, the one way for him to feel useful – he walks down the hall to track down his partner.

_Doesn't want to let go (ever again)._

* * *

"I'm not even sure anymore which one of my agents it is you're trying to get killed but next time you come to me first, you hear me?" Gibbs shouts, his eyes, filled with fire and what Vance can see is a hint of panic, trained directly on the man behind the desk.

Vance doesn't even try to finish his phone call, simply tells them he will call them back, the moment Gibbs bursts into his office. He doesn't reprimand him for not knocking, doesn't tell him he should have pre-announced his visit; he simply puts the phone down and looks at his colleague.

"I know how you feel about apologies..." he starts as he stands and Gibbs steps up to him, anger radiating off him with each breath he takes.

"What the hell were you thinking sending _MY_ agent out there on her own? I don't give a shit about apologies Leon, I want an explanation, and I want a promise that you don't let any other agency use my team - _my team_, for their dirty work again!"

The Director knows it is best to let Gibbs speak his mind in this moment. He doesn't always agree with him – in fact he very seldom does, bordering on never. They rarely seem to see eye to eye on much at all but in this moment he can't deny that this blew up in his face, he's just not convinced it is his fault. Not in the way Gibbs seems to be. He raises his hands, tries to stand tall in front of the raging man. He wants to reason with him, can tell that what he himself would consider his normal no nonsense approach (and Gibbs would refer to as his overly political and impractical walk on egg shells approach) will not do today.

"They're, technically, my team too Jethro-"

"You gave them up the second you betrayed them sending Ziva out on her own under no familiar, sensible, command and without anyone backing her up! Why the hell was I not informed the second they found pictures of her at his apartment? How long did they keep that from me?" Gibbs yells in Vance's face now, doesn't back down, doesn't slow down. He's boiling inside, his mind full of questions and he hates the feeling of having been kept in the dark. "How am I meant to do my job when you do not do yours?"

"You've misunderstood, she had back up!"

"Oh cut the crap! You know as well as I do that she was on her own out there! Have you even seen her? Don't you dare stand here and lie to me!" And in that very moment Gibbs once again considers just shooting out Vance's knee caps. His eyes are still flashing dangerously as he stares the Director down and he's done. He's over anything that is politics, manners and patience; he just wants to be told the truth.

"Now you listen to me Gibbs!" Vance is running out of patience too, doesn't like being spoken too like he's not the one in charge around here. "The deal was always that she would have back up. The CIA sent an agent out to have her back," and he ventures back to his desk, pulls a folder from a neat pile on his desk and hands it to Gibbs who accepts it, scepticism still etched on his face. His eyes flicker from the file back to his Director.

"What is this?"

"It's everything I was given on the agent CIA reported to me would be working with David on this. Agent Hayden Scott was briefed, fully instructed and brought in to cover this based on his established commitment to this operation. He is one of the agents that has, for months, tracked this man," and Vance picks up another file, much thicker and opens it before showing Gibbs a picture of a middle aged man, dark hair and piercing blue eyes, "Mr Asher Hastings, our alleged terrorist."

Gibbs grabs the entire file and flicks through the pages, scanning them swiftly. He stops as he comes across the report on the findings in the man's apartment and looks over the accompanying photographs showing the collection of photos of what unmistakeably is their Ziva David. There are pictures taken of her on duty, as well as a couple when she's clearly off duty and he doesn't understand, and hates that he doesn't.

"And the missing agent, the one Ziva was pretending to want to meet?" Gibbs queries, still looking through the file on Hastings. He looks up as Vance sits back down behind his desk.

"Still missing. They're working 24-7 on trying to make contact with him, but so far all attempts have failed, apart from the one made by us, on the behalf of Special Agent David. He however, just as expected did not show up, Hastings did instead, suggesting that-"

"I know what happened!" Gibbs snapped, still not liking anything about this. "And I don't see how this suggests anything apart from the fact that the CIA have kept us in the dark, endangered one of my people and now wants help cleaning up their mess. Agent Scott, who was meant to look after my agent, where the hell did he go then?"

"He disappeared, never arrived at the meeting point. His identity was supposed to be kept classified up until the moment of contact. I could not release to Special Agent David who she was working with." Vance sighed and rubbed his eyes, tiredly. It sounded like a ticking bomb, with hindsight, even to him. "That does not mean that he was intended to never show up at all though, Gibbs! I swear. This case became very personal to Agent Scott as the agent, the one that went missing a few days ago, is his partner. They're assuring me that no one is as engaged in this case as him and he was meant to be there as her back up. He was meant to be there... but the CIA are assuming he has been grabbed by Hastings too."

"Great... we're _assuming_ things now..." Gibbs grunts, snatching the file shut, once again locking eyes with Vance. "That's just terrific and all Leon," his words are dripping with sarcasm and frustration and for once Vance can't hold it against him, "but it still leaves me with one hell of a mess!"

"Look, I just spoke to them, they're handling this. They are not requesting any assistance with finding their agents."

"They better not!" Gibbs laughs dryly, his eyes dark and hard, the situation anything but amusing.

"This has nothing to do with the Navy-" Vance starts, only to once again be interrupted by a very impatient Gibbs.

"And still you were awfully happy to send out an NCIS agent last night! Do you need me to spell out to you what that stands for, what we do here?" Gibbs knows he's pushing it, knows he's being obnoxious (thinks Tony would love it) but he feels like he's treading water, working with authority that is making his life harder, not easier.

Vance's eyes are ice cold and Gibbs can tell he's trying hard to keep the sneer out of his voice, trying to stay calm.

"We have an overriding responsibility to this nation in common and there are times when we have to cooperate-"

But Gibbs is not interested and cuts him short once again with a sharp "I don't have time for this!" and Vance falls silent for a moment, a tired sigh escaping him.

"Gibbs, I don't know what else it is you want me to say... I admit that it was a mistake to send her out but she's back now. There is not much we can do until the CIA have re-assessed the risk, if any, the photos of Ziva presents and what Hastings' interest in her is. For now it is their operation."

Gibbs shakes his head slowly at his words and flicks through the file he himself brought with him; the report typed up by Ziva. He finds one of the last pages, places it in front of his Director and stabs a finger, hard, down on a particular paragraph.

"They're my agents, _I_ assess the risk and Agent David can look after herself, can fight her way out of situations you and I can't even imagine, but out there she hesitated, lost her focus, and I suspected why, call it a hunch, call it a gut feeling, but I was right!"

Vance frowns in confusion, doesn't understand where Gibbs is going with this, but reads the part of her report that Gibbs has indicated, before looking back up. "DiNozzo," Vance considers out loud, "they brought him up, made it sound like they could get to him... I can't see how it is strange Gibbs, if Hastings has been following Agent David he is likely to have come across him in her company, it doesn't mean anything. It's an easy bluff to attempt with even the smallest bit of information."

"That's what I thought, until I interviewed Jenkins, one of the men that attacked her, the one she brought in with her despite not even being the one she stabbed with his own knife," Gibbs pauses and Vance notes the hint of pride in Gibbs' voice, despite everything she did more than get away alive, she injured one attacker and brought one of them down too, and the Director had to admit that it was more than any of them could have expected of her. "He seems to be of the opinion that Agent DiNozzo is a dead man walking."

"And you're going to let that rattle you? Gibbs, he's just trying to get to you."

"If this guy is using them against each other, he's not just doing that for kicks and you know that too! What he said to her in that moment was bad enough to let it distract her, throw her off and rattle, as you put it, _her – _Ziva! She would not have taken it seriously unless she felt she needed to. She is not easily rattled!"

"Maybe she wasn't once, but she's been through a lot since..." Vance trails off when he sees the look of pure disgust and disapproval on Gibbs' face and he shifts in his seat, regretting his words. "You have a lot of faith in her judgement, Jethro," he says instead and Gibbs cocks his head to the side and looks at him, hard.

"Whatever was said to her made her believe DiNozzo was in trouble, and until I can prove to her that that is not the case I am not taking any chances, including letting those clowns work alone on this! I trust her judgement enough to trust her with my life, and I trust her with Tony's."

"Fine," Vance nods, "how can I be of assistance?" He can tell Gibbs has made up his mind, and as much as he wants them to stay out of this he can't completely blame the man for wanting to stay hands on when the only alternative is sitting back and waiting to see how it works out, waiting out the truth.

"Get me the full, and I mean full report on Hastings. I want to have every single note ever made on him, access to every find, every theory and lead!" and with that Gibbs storms back out of Vance's office, gone as suddenly as he showed up. He's wasted enough time on bureaucracy already, doesn't have time to stick around for Vance to change his mind about this. His mind is spinning, unanswered questions scraping and scratching at his consciousness. He's uncomfortable and frustrated, needs to find out exactly what Ziva has told Tony, and more importantly exactly what she hasn't told him.

* * *

When Tony walks in, stops in the door and casually leans against the bright orange wall Ziva can't help but look up and smile at him from her spot at one of the small tables. The senior field agent even shoots McGee a small, sincere smile from where he is standing upon noticing his worried expression. He doesn't like this situation any better than the rest of them, Tony can tell.

"Hey Probie," he calls softly. "Sorry to crash the tea party ladies," and he bows his head in an apology and ignores the way Tim rolls his eyes at him. "The bossman wants you Zee-vah. You're probably in trouble..." he wanders over to the table, makes a mental note that she's changed her clothes, looks more like herself again, and gingerly grabs at the chocolate muffin on Ziva's plate. He's only playing around, and can feel his stomach flip as the ninja in her kicks in and before he has so much as moved the muffin a couple of inches up into the air her hand locks around his wrist, hard. He's trapped. She's got him. He snickers at her, grinning widely and she wheezes at him, with a smile of her own.

"Don't you dare, Tony..."

McGee packs up, throws out his now cold coffee and brushes crumbs off his pant legs as he stands. "Did Gibbs get anything out of Jenkins in interrogation?" he asks and Tony drops the muffin, wincing, pretending to be hurt by Ziva's mean grip.

"This will bruise!" he whines, rubbing the spot before extending his arm out to Ziva again, his green eyes wide and glossy, begging, "kiss it better?"

To his half amusement, half bewilderment she locks eyes with him, slowly bending down and places a light kiss just on the inside of his extended wrist. Something in her eyes, beyond the playful, flirtatious glint that's floating around, glittering like gold, something else, makes him think that she remembers the exact moment he relived just moments earlier. His fingers, her beating pulse...

"Better?" she almost whispers up at him, and he can't quite find his voice, swallows hard and barely notices how McGee shifts next to him, eyes darting around the room, feeling like he's invading their space, not sure where to look.

"Y-yeah..." when he speaks his voice sounds hoarse and thick, a bit scratchy and lower than planned, but he's just thankful he managed to utter anything at all. He can't remember when he lost his ability to speak around her, around anyone.

"Interrogation?" McGee probes again, "What happened?" and Tony and Ziva are torn back to reality, their gaze broken and Tony's wrist all forgotten about.

"He wouldn't tell me," Tony shrugs and he can see that McGee is thinking what he's thinking – that it's strange, very strange indeed. "He just said he wants to talk to the ninja."

Tim nods before turning to Ziva, "well, whatever is going on we will fix it. These guys can't hide forever and Gibbs will never let the CIA take the lead on this."

She smiles at him, at the determination in his voice and she throws her coffee out too. She cherishes the way Tim often speaks about Gibbs just like that, like he can fix and make right just about anything that feels wrong. She thinks she knows what Gibbs will want from her, wants to believe desperately that Tim is right, that it is something that they can fix.

"Come on, Probie," Tony drapes an arm around Tim's shoulders and walks him down the corridor. "While Ziva and Gibbs have their little date I think it is time for you and me to do some bonding!"

"Tony I don't want to do your paper work for you!"

"Shut up and appreciate the moment... you... me... you with my paper work, me with pizza and the newest issue of Sports Illustrated!"

* * *

If the view bothered him, he didn't let it show, as he sat crouched a few feet away overseeing the work. Asher Hastings didn't so much as flinch as the shrill screams of a man eaten from the inside by pain so sharp that it cut through the stuffy air in the room, bounced against the walls. The panting man writhed and squirmed on the dirty floor. He kicked his feet awkwardly, almost as in spasms and the pool of blood he was lying in grew bigger and bigger. It wasn't until the pasty looking man, pearls of sweat clinging to his face and neck, snarled and nearly knocked the figure leaning over him out that Asher spoke.

"Mason!" he barked, before waiving the gun he was holding. He flexed his fingers, impatience gnawing on him. He was getting bored. He retrained the gun on the uniform clad man prodding his friend's chest with bloody fingers. "Lie the fuck still, Mason. And you," he shifted his gaze to the wide eyed stranger, "you're advised to hurry up before I decide to recruit someone else for this job!"

"He needs a hospital, if I remove the knife now-"

"What are you waiting for? Just fix him up! You have your stuff!" and Asher kicks the supply bag closer. "No hospital. This is what you have to work with! I don't think you have much of a choice," and he shoves the barrel of his gun harshly into the temple of the green eyed doctor, "do you?"

Mason Carter grits his teeth and claws at his own palms in desperation before erupting in another fit of screams again. His vision is beginning to blur and he throws his head to the side, trying to fix his eyes on Asher. He licks his lips, grimacing in pain.

"Ash... Asher I hate her! I hate the bitch! I want to kill her! Can I kill her?"

"Be quiet," Asher chuckles and and the doctor watches him out of the corner of his eye, puzzled at the gunman's sudden and out of place amusement while pressing gauze over the open wound in the hurting man's side. There is a dusty, but bright naked bulb hanging low from the ceiling and though he has worked in worse lighting before this is not his idea of an ideal working environment. The carpet beneath them, once a light cream, was dirty and torn, matted with dirt and neglect. The material sloshed when his knee sank into the blood that spread like split ink through the fibres.

"He'll need stitches..." he mutters, and tries to shut away the part of him that's panicking, that's scared he will never see his children again, that wonders how the hell this happened to him. He digs in his supply bag, stiffens when he feels the barrel of the gun once again pressed into his body and swallows down the bile threatening to rise up this throat. He concentrates on his duty, the man in need of help before him. "I'm just... just," and he pulls what he was searching for from the bag and holds the supplies out for Asher to see.

"Faster, doc!" Asher shouts, his face growing angry now and the doctor looks strangely relieved at the indication of actual emotion, even if it is anger and even if he has a gun to accompany said rage. He nods and gets back to work. As he methodically and steadily pulls the surgical thread through the edges of the stab wound he can't help but let his mind wander to whoever must have inflicted it. He wonders about the mystery woman the two men had talked about earlier and where she might be now.

"Was there anyone else hurt?" he asks Asher while he finishes up the best he can.

"Would you like me to arrange for _you_ to get hurt?" Asher sighs, annoyed and waives the gun around again, demonstratively. "Do something about the pain!" he barks out instead and points to the bag on the floor. "Give him morphine or something!"

Mason Carter hums in agreement and nods his head, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. His skin is still a pasty grey and the fire in his side feels like it is licking its way up his chest now, his heart heaving and spluttering behind his ribs as if boiling inside him. His clothes are sticking to him but he can't tell weather he is soaked with blood or sweat. Whenever his eyelids fall shut he can see spiders, big black and hairy, crawl their way across his vision, his world. He shudders and blinks, hard, trying to make them go away. He thinks he must be going insane, thinks he's losing his mind with pain.

Moments later heavy silence has settled in the room. Mason has been moved onto the shabby, flee bitten sofa where he is sleeping off the morphine indeed administered and Asher strides across the room, peers into the darkness outside, listens to the slow pulse of night life and late night traffic before shutting the blinds. He moves over to a closet and pulls a big plastic bag out. He dangles it in the air, his small smile growing into a grin.

"Well played! So far you've done a splendid job playing both nurse and surgeon," he chirps at the stranger sitting on the floor. The doctor wipes his bloody hands on his uniform trouser legs and looks up at Asher with his big emerald eyes. He can tell that the doctor is still wondering, still silently asking higher powers what he is doing there, why him, and what will happen now? He feels strong and powerful, godly almost, as he lets the bag fall to the floor with a soft thud and thinks that he, Asher Hastings, knows the answer to all those questions. He almost wants to laugh when he thinks about how everything had worked out, how sometimes the universe will assist you in the strangest of ways.

"With things going so well, I'm sure you will be happy enough to play one more role," he raises his gun again, trains it on the uniform clad man before continuing, his voice steady, "and don't worry, doc, this one is _dead_ easy."

* * *

**A/N: **This is still foundation work really, but I hope no one was bored and there are plenty of clues to puzzle together if you look hard enough. ;)

Thank you for reading and feel free to tell me what you think in a review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS or any of its characters.

**A/N:** It is most probably good practice to inform the readers of plans to not only vacate the country the first two chapters were posted from, but also a slightly disorganised but desperately unavoidable mission to drag all my personal belongings from one address to another (note to self: from now on only make friends with people that own and drive cars, mini vans – even better, or ideally small cargo planes...) and I do regret that I abandoned such good practice. The move is now, almost, complete though thanks to a very small Greek man, with a very big German made car. He was so nice and patient with me and all my things (since when do I own so many things?) that I let him keep the £5 change. Considering I've spent the last 3 years accumulating not only things (so, so many) but also a massive student loan, I think that was rather generous of me.

Anyway, what I meant to say was – I'm sorry about the delay. This chapter, to be perfectly honest with you, should have been up ages ago and then a flight, a reunion with the flatmate, packing and moving all got in the way.

A massive** thank you to juli**, **xXBleeding-WingsXx**, **Tiva lovah**, my fellow Scandinavian **ChEmMiE**, **dvd123**, **groovin**, **Tiva4eva95**, **ADR1989** and **ncis-1001 **for reviewing the last chapter! I really appreciate the encouragement and your kind words. Making you guys excited makes me excited!

Thank you to anyone else as well that's added this story through any of the alert functions.

**Chapter three**

Gibbs, normally not a man concerned with pace, unless it was one too slow surprised himself as he found himself musing over the deep darkness that had gripped the city skyline outside as he followed Ziva's deep chocolate gaze to the windows. The buildings in the distance were distorted by streams of water rushing down the vertical surface and the colours of traffic and street lights blended and bled across the glass. It was getting late and he noticed a need for sleep tugging at Ziva's features. She swallowed and blinked as the brake lights from the traffic outside flooded the glass as the red illuminated the ribbons of rain water, like blood dripping from the sky outside.

"They were both in masks... they ambushed you and you tried to fight them off. And then, after you stabbed him, the second man...?" Gibbs tries again, his voice low, but the room is so still and quiet apart from the beating of rain against the windows that he might as well have been yelling in contrast.

"I keep going over it in my head," she turns back to him, looks him in the eye and tips her paper mug with tea in a circle, the warm liquid sloshing against the sturdy paper. "Perhaps I could have dealt with it differently?" she wonders out loud and Gibbs cocks his head to the side, before he leans forward, towards her.

"You defended yourself, did what you had to do."

"But," and Gibbs can see the hesitation in her eyes before she continues, "I was angry too. I wonder if I..." she slows down, clears her throat and starts over, "I was scared," she has a funny look on her face and Gibbs almost wants to smile at her. It's not a word she uses a lot. He knows what she means though and nods as she adds, "but not for myself."

"For Tony." It is a statement not a question and Gibbs once again makes a mental note of how tired she looks in that moment as she pushes the paper cup across the table, away from her, before looking up at him.

"I was taken by surprise. I knew there were pictures of me," and Gibbs nods, encourages her to continue. "I did not know what this man could want from me, why he would collect such pictures but I was not scared, for me," and she waves her hands around in front of her as she speaks of the fear, or lack thereof, for her own safety as if it simply a concept she has heard tales about, but never experienced herself – Gibbs knows that's not entirely true. "When he spoke of Tony suddenly-" she stops herself before narrowing her eyes at her boss. "Gibbs, he was there, in the shadows, constantly moving and he spoke in such detail. It made my blood run cold."

"Hastings?"

"Yes," she nods glancing at the photograph attached to the file in front of Gibbs. "I struggled with the men, fought with them not sure what I was safe to do and not do. I could not be sure of what I could risk." She sighs and Gibbs can hear the frustration in her voice as she speaks again, "They were not meant to even be there, the two of them, Jenkins and the man I stabbed. I was only told about Hastings. I did not want to let them distract me from Hastings, in case I would lose track of him but as he spoke I momentarily let him distract me from them instead!"

"You thought you were putting Tony's life at the line?" Gibbs tries to make sense of the events and can see as Ziva considers her answer that she is too, has tried all evening.

"He made it sound like..." she trails off, and Gibbs taps the top of her hand lightly to bring her back to the room as her eyes suddenly fill with a vacant look as her minds stages a nightmare scenario, a different possible ending (or was it beginning?) to the story. "I could no longer be certain that he had not already found Tony. I could not afford to risk it," and she looks determined now. Gibbs nods again, knows what she means.

"He was, detailed, _graphic_, yes?" she doesn't wait for Gibbs to answer her question before she continues, "he described what he had done to Tony... his reactions and I do not know why I let it get to me."

"You snapped, and you stabbed one of them?"

"He got too _close _to me," she states simply and Gibbs holds her gaze, can tell that he probably doesn't want to know exactly how close.

"Good girl," and he shoots her a small comforting smile.

As they walk out of the conference room moments later Gibbs slows down suddenly, before they will be back in earshot of the bullpen, he looks at her and her glazed eyes before putting a warm hand on her cheek. Thumb resting just below her eye he motions towards the desk area and her partner with a quick nod.

"I wont let any of these bastards play you two off each other again. Until we have figured this out you stay with him, and he stays with you, understood?"

She nods and though it sounds like a simple order, she knows it is so much more than that. It is reassurance, a safety net and a confirmation that he trusts her instincts and judgement.

"You look after him, he looks after you," Gibbs continues and she knows it is a temporary solution of sorts. It is a simple plan, one that merely requires them to do what they always do – have each other's backs. "You need sleep," and that is nothing but an order, Ziva can tell the difference, knows that there is no point in arguing. Gibbs pulls a set of keys out of his pockets and she catches them mid air as he tosses them in her direction. "I wasn't kidding about the safe house."

She stares at the keys in her hand as she closes her fist around them. She presses the cool metal of the keeps hard into her clammy palm and doesn't look up until she hears Tony's laughter from the bullpen. Something about McGee and a traffic cone... she's not sure she wants to know.

"I haven't told him," she grabs Gibbs' elbow quickly as he's about to walk back into the bullpen and her boss nods.

"I know." He looks over the file cabinets and desks, watching as his senior field agent hovers over McGee's keyboard with a bottle of water, teasingly pretending to be on the verge of soaking his equipment while McGee hops across the floor, his shoelaces tied together, and his eyes wide in fear. "I don't know what the hell is going on here and I frankly don't know anymore which one of you is being used to get to the other - but I know how Tony works."

Gibbs places a hand over her smaller one, that's still lingering on his arm and his voice is calm and almost warm, father like, when he continues.

"He will take stupid risks when he thinks it is himself he is looking after, and I know he would never do the same if he thinks it is you."

The seriousness, and maybe intimacy of the situation gets to the stealthy Ziva suddenly. The underlying meaning of what Gibbs is saying (Tony cares, a lot... maybe even more about her than about himself) rips through her like a sandstorm, and the desert is very specific, and her tongue goes dry and her wrists burn as if her bones can remember the ache of captivity. She rolls her eyes at her boss trying to brush the emotional turmoil, not just her own, but Tony's too, aside and hide it away. She feels embarrassment warm her cheeks and since Ziva David simply does not blush she scoffs at Gibbs, steering them clear of the emotional attachment that she has felt chasing after her all day, nipping at her heels as it gets closer and closer. She knows that once she is forced to face whatever these emotions are, when she has to evaluate exactly what it means and just how much she cares about him and him about her, there will be no going back.

"It is Tony we are talking about. He has the attention span of a three year old," she lies, knows that isn't really true, not when it comes down to it, not when it really matters. "We could tell him, either way he seems to take an enormous pride in the most foolish acts," and that's not a lie but underneath her scolding tone she knows well just how many of the most complicated of situations require some sort of action so finely bordering on foolish that it is genius. After all, it is not like she is a stranger to the concept of risk taking either.

Gibbs does not try to figure out what is running through her mind, but he knows she is most likely, in his mind over-analysing and overcomplicating what is a factual observation to him. The glossy look in her eyes and the way her shoulders tense gives her away and he knows he has made her uncomfortable, thinking he is digging into an emotional side of their relationship neither of them is brave enough to bring up with the other. He himself, as the team leader, is not at all interested in the exploration of anything but their safety and efficiency. None of his rules exist just for the heck of it after all, and rule number 12 is no exception. He is not blind though, and he knows he trusts the two with each other's lives in a way he would not trust any outsider. Gibbs has come to realise though, maybe in the shoes of a friend and not their boss, maybe in a desert and not a squad room, that he is not a man concerned with why that is as long as they do their jobs.

"He worries," Gibbs shrugs, it is simple to him, "and he needs a solid task right now, something he knows how to tackle."

"So you want him to tackle me?" Ziva tries to keep up her scepticism but can't keep the amusement from slipping into her voice and it relaxes her shoulders, her features soft as she looks up at the older man. There is a sparkle in his eyes as he chuckles at her questions that makes her heart swell and for the first time tonight she genuinely believes that this too will be okay in the end.

* * *

He checks his emails for any update on that file he requested from the CIA, frowns at his screen and the empty inbox. It isn't hard to keep it tidy when you have normally have no interest whatsoever in opening any of the messages that come in. He does not understand people's growing fear of picking up the phone. His favourite part of the email client is the little button with a trash can on it. It is a button he uses a lot. He downs his coffee, has lost count of how many cups he's had today and glances gingerly around the bullpen and the tired faces before him. He hates waiting, but it has been a long day and sends them home as it's nearing 2am and none of his agents seem to know any better than himself just in which end to start.

"Safe house," he repeats and watches the team pack up for the night. Tony dismisses the idea of a driver taking them to their home for the night and manages to talk both Gibbs and Ziva into letting him drive the two over. Gibbs nods in agreement, understands Tony's need for the slightest bit of normalcy. He rubs a hand over his tired face, notices how McGee is moving in slow motion at his desk, taking his time getting ready. Gibbs turns back to his computer momentarily, stares at the empty inbox again before glancing down at the photo of Asher Hastings. His gut is telling him this is all a waiting game. He has never cared for the rules of such a game, but thinks that maybe this time he truly has no choice.

McGee watches Tony and Ziva leave and waits for the elevator doors to have safely shut before he drops his half empty backpack back onto the floor next to his file cabinet and he scrambles from his chair in the dimly lit office.

"Um, boss... I was," he waits for Gibbs to look up at him, "I am going to stay, boss."

Gibbs doesn't say anything, just looks at his agent so Tim continues.

"A few more hours and I think I should be able to get to the information we need from CIA," when Gibbs doesn't protest and orders him home he takes that as his cue to return to his desk where he switches his monitors back on. "I know you're waiting for them to hand it over to us", and he watches Gibbs face turn sour at that, knows it's not a situation his boss is happy with, knows it goes against absolutely everything he believes in. "If I can access the right database I should be able to give us at least a few hours head start."

"It's late," Gibbs states, his voice almost soft to Tim, and he looks up from his computer to look at the older man.

"I know, but I would rather stay."

He nods, "okay," at McGee and smiles as a new voice fills the room suddenly.

"Me too," Abby smiles at him from her spot near the stairs and she walks over to them handing them both a new cup of coffee. "My turn for once," she grins at his surprised look. She starts pacing in front of Gibbs' desk and he leans back in his chair.

"I know I couldn't sleep if I went home now anyway – do you think Ziva is okay? Did Tony go with her?" she doesn't wait for Gibbs to answer before she continues, takes his lack of protest as a yes. "If only I had something more, the knife itself or hairs or... something!"

"Hastings never came close enough to her," Gibbs thinks out loud and Abby nods. "I am waiting for the photos from the scene." His face darkens in frustration before he continues, "I feel like I have my hands tied behind my back here! The CIA cleaned up the scene within hours."

"It all went wrong, they probably wanted as little of it left as possible. Damage control. Not much of a scene means not much of a mess..." McGee mutters and Gibbs sighs.

"They claim no knife was found on site, and Ziva says the last time she saw it it was still lodged in the man's side," Gibbs says flicking through her report again. "So you have nothing for me yet Abs?" he looks up, and he's not angry or irritated, just tired.

"I didn't say that!" she chirps and Gibbs straightens up, looking considerably more hopeful. "I found blood on Ziva's clothes, some of it hers, but most of it someone else's and I ruled out Jenkins first. He doesn't appear to have come out of that struggle bleeding anyway, which is crazy really considering it was Ziva kicking his ass. What are the odds really? Pure luck I'd say!"

"Abby..." Gibbs prompts, "the blood? You found a match?"

"Oh right, yes! Well no. Well actually... I did find a match," she grimaces, wringing her hands awkwardly before she turns to Tim. "McGee, get my computer up on the screen." She smiles and thanks him with a small bow when he complies and Gibbs stands up and walks around his desk to come stand next to her. She glances from the screen, and the results displayed, to Gibbs and hears how McGee, having seen them too, stops typing suddenly.

"That's our guy?" Gibbs asks, bewildered.

"_That _is a Chocolate Labrador," Abby answers simply.

"A dog?" McGee pipes up from his desk and Gibbs stares at the images before him.

"Abby?" Gibbs barks, he isn't sure what exactly his question is, but there definitely is one.

"Well I don't know more than you do Gibbs," Abby sighs starting to pace again. "Well, I do. We _all_ know Ziva definitely stabbed a man, an actual man, with human DNA and man parts and-"

"But it isn't human blood?" Gibbs asks, knowing it is impossible, knowing something isn't adding up somewhere.

"No, no, it is human blood," and Abby shoots him a funny look. "I mean he, whoever we are looking for did not bleed Labrador blood," she laughs, "that would just be bizarre Gibbs!"

"Everything about this is starting to look bizarre," McGee sighs, frowning. "I think Ziva would have mentioned if there was a dog at the scene."

"Oh but there wasn't," Abby waves her hands around in front of her. "It is just that to even get a match in the first place there has to be records, something to match the samples against. For example if the person is in a database for a past crime or inquiry into a crime, medical databases or an employer's database. Whoever our guy is, the sample stored for him has been exchanged. The blood sample set to match his, even though it does not at all, not really... gets us no face, no name, no actual man parts, but this. A dog."

"Surely that should be impossible though? You're not meant to be able to manipulate a system like that! DNA and computers..." McGee rants, visibly distressed at the thought of inaccuracy flowing from the combination. A combination they rely on every day.

"I know, it hurts for me too Timmy," she says, her eyes shiny in the light from his desk lamp.

"So what are we actually looking at here then?" Gibbs asks, shifting on his feet throwing a hand towards the screen, "what does this mean? For us?"

"It means I suppose..." Abby says, can see immediately that Gibbs doesn't like the sound of that, that he prefers when she has certainties to share with him, and she wants to punch him in the arm, wants to remind him that she prefers that too. "It c_ould_ mean that he has at some point been forced to leave a blood sample, for the purpose of records, but it has been in his, or someone else's interest to make a match impossible. Though it is not of course, if we could find him, and test his actual blood against what I got off Ziva's clothes but the database is useless."

"Which database did the Labrador blood come from?"

"That's the thing Gibbs, I can't see in what context the blood has been added to the database. Unless the sample was logged as his by mistake, which seems unlikely I would say to rule out medical records. Whoever messed with the data," and McGee huffs angrily at her words, "would probably have been the kind of person who could mess with most things."

Gibbs lets her words sink in and suggests, "someone looking to cover up a crime or an employer looking to cover up-"

"An employee?" McGee finishes for him. "Hide an identity? I suppose I have done that for Ziva before," McGee muses out loud and Gibbs turns to look at him, encouraging him to finish his train of thought. "Nothing involving DNA databases, but altering her identity, temporarily. With the right script you can add an alternative truth, or reality, like a layer, on top of the original. The computer isn't lying, it is telling the pre-programmed truth that is temporarily necessary. Like when we turned her back into her Mossad assassin self from years ago for that case..."

Gibbs nods, he remembers, thinks he's getting what McGee is thinking.

"So if we were to look at someone equally in the need to do that, someone with the resources and possibly even national security clearing to even make DNA appear to be different than it is," Gibbs trails off, while returning to his desk.

"It isn't though. DNA doesn't lie." Abby states, crossing her arms over her chest and Gibbs looks up at her.

"No but people do and Ziva was not attacked by a Chocolate Labrador." He turns to Tim, "Besides, we just need an angle, somewhere to start. McGee," and the young agent knows what's coming, has thought about it too.

"We do it, FBI would surely do it..."

Gibbs looks down at the pictures of the two missing agents, relieved they're not two of his own, before looking back up at McGee and Abby before adding, "the CIA can do it."

* * *

The street lights are casting ribbons of light across her face as he drives through the night. He knows he should keep his eyes on the road, and he does, really, but he can't help but sneak peeks at her too. Her temple is resting against the cool glass of the passenger side window and he smiles at himself thinking of the contradiction, the mystery, that is Ziva. Even now he can tell that she's tired, the mortal human in her drained and in need of rest. The hum of the engine is numbing her mind and she can feel it caress her joints and muscles, making her look and feel visibly relaxed in her seat. Tony knows though that it would only take a fraction of a second for the ninja in her, the seemingly immortal assassin, to kick back in and to claim her mind and body if needed. He can see from the way her eyes track their surroundings, constantly scanning, never just lingering, that she isn't as relaxed as she might look to an untrained eye.

Few things in life are what they seem and Tony readjusts his hands on the steering wheel, clearing his throat softly as her actual lack of immortality tugs at his heart and mind. He only has to blink for images of her face, dirty and bloodied, to invade his mind and burn their way across his field of vision. He blinks again and they're gone, their only trace a tightness over his chest that he knows he just has to wait out. It slowly goes, his lungs expand in his chest and he speaks, softly, not wanting to break the silence with anything too loud.

"So what did Gibbs want?" He knows it's a long shot, knows she's likely to not tell him, he can just feel it, but wants to give it a go anyway.

"He's having some people over for a dinner party and a movie, wanted my advice on what film to go for," she yawns before letting a smile tug at her lips when he gasps next to her, momentarily deeply and genuinely insulted.

"Why would he ask you? He knows I am the king of- oh..." It dawns on him then and he stabs at her shoulder with his finger. "People over..." he scoffs, "for dinner..." he has to laugh mockingly now. "The boss would never. He doesn't host."

"You have dinner with him," she says and turns the AC up warmer. She doesn't know when she got cold, but now when she's realised she can't push it out of her mind. She trembles slightly but doesn't want him to see. He does see though, knows her too well, watches her too closely. Always has. As he stops at a red light he reaches back behind him, grabs his jacket from the back seat and dumps it in her lap before she can protest.

"It's different, we just eat. In the same place. He doesn't host me," and when she just sits there staring at the piece of clothing in her lap, running her fingers over the material absentmindedly he rolls his eyes and reaches across to spread the jacket over her legs with one hand, the other still on the steering wheel. He is thankful that she doesn't punch him in the face over it, or breaks his arm. "How do you know about that anyway?"

She smiles at him but doesn't answer and he realises that he doesn't mind that she knows. He figures that Gibbs is as much of a father to him as he is to her after all. She wouldn't think less of him for needing those moments, for wanting them.

"You won't tell me then?" and Ziva is almost surprised to detect not resentment or anger, but just amusement in his voice, "you won't tell me what he needed to talk to you about?"

She knows she would have been hurt and angry if she thought her partner hid something from her that to her seemed to be just as much related to her work as to anyone else's, so she speaks a half truth that makes the lump of ice in her stomach melt away a little bit.

"He wanted me to stick with you, and you with me."

"We always do that," and Tony sounds so sweet, soft and warm in that moment that Ziva has to fight the sudden urge to lean over and snuggle into his shoulder. She doesn't. He's driving and she's not sure he would ever let her live it down if she did. The teasing would be relentless. Instead she presses herself back against the window again, ignoring the way she shivers as her temple rests against the window again. Not _always_, she thinks and knows a time when she had even requested to not stay with him. But then again, always stretches out ahead of them just as far as it could ever go back, and she thinks that maybe they have been given a second chance at their 'always' for a reason.

She snaps out of her thoughts, almost jumps out of her skin, when Tony all of a sudden yanks the car door open and peers up at her, from his spot on the ground, crouching now, a hand on her knee.

"Woah," he smiles at her, "easy there ninja." He reaches across her, painfully slow, as in slow motion, and unbuckles her seatbelt for her when she doesn't move to do it herself. She hadn't even noticed that the car stopped. "You okay?" he asks her when she doesn't break his arm this time either, or at the very least shoves him away saying she can do it herself.

She nods and pulls herself together.

"I am fine," she states and he pokes her in the ribs, playfully.

"Sure you are..." and with that he strolls up to the building that's theirs for now, one of many different properties used by the agency for the purpose of a safe nights sleep. She wonders if she's been to this one before, can't picture the apartment inside in her mind but hopes that it is warm. Her mind screams for warmth and her body protests as she climbs out of the car following her partner.

"Come on, David," he calls over his shoulder. "Are you coming to carry me across the threshold or what?"

"I'll kick your ass across it if you want?" and she presses Tony's jacket tightly to her chest as she jogs to catch up with him. He holds the heavy door open and she steps into the lobby of the large building. Before the door falls shut behind them both of them peer outside for a moment, none of them saying it, but both knowing what the other is thinking. What if someone is watching them now, here?

They ride the elevator up in silence but the closer they get to the apartment, number 10 on the third floor, the more chatty they get and by the time they've reached the door Tony is literally wrestling her for the key, trying to cheekily dip his hand into her pocket. She's biting her lip, laughter bubbling up inside her and she squeals and hushes him when he tickles her sides hoping she'll surrender the key.

"Stop it! Tony! Shh! We will wake up the neighbours!"

"Then give me the key, Zee-vah!"

She gives in simply in the name of neighbourhood peace and because she knows Gibbs will kill them if someone calls the police over to investigate their rowdy behaviour. It's nearly 3am and she knows a lot of people will have to get up early in the morning for work. She is even one of these people herself!

Tony goes inside, she follows and he flicks the lights on as he stalks through the rooms. He slips into a room at the end of the corridor and returns with a couple of towels that he gives her after having tugged his jacket out from under her arm.

"I think there's a tub. Have a bath, Ziva. Or a shower..." he shrugs and flicks on another light. She's thankful as the shadows having lingered across the unfamiliar walls of the small, but comfortable apartment, are extinguished.

"Do I smell, Tony?" she asks, and he can hear she's not insulted, not really, just amused still. He likes it, when her voice gives away her playful side. It's late though, and he isn't sure why but he doesn't take the bait. He doesn't take the opportunity to continue the banter.

"No but it will warm you up. You're still shivering, Ziva."

And she realises he's right. She nods and slips into the bathroom. It's impersonal looking, free from personal belongings and clutter, but it's clean and just as she is about to close the door behind her Tony appears in the doorway. She is expecting it but still rolls her eyes at him as the words come out of his mouth, a grin on his face.

"Need help undressing there my little ninja?" He laughs when she shoves him in the chest, trying to push him out. "Wait, wait," he chuckles, "that's not what I came in for, though I could offer my services of course, you just need to ask..."

"When hell freezes over Tony," and he is half surprised, half not at all as she starts to unbutton her shirt and he mutters "tease" under his breath. She stops half way down and gives him a long look. "Tony?"

He leans inside, flicks on another switch, this one not for a light, she notices, and he leans back against the door frame.

"I'll be waiting eagerly for hell to freeze then," and he sighs dramatically and longingly, eyes fixed on her half exposed bra. She gives his shoulder a shove, making him yelp as he tumbles backwards out into the hall. He giggles a bit before he continues, "but seriously, I don't want you to freeze so I switched the floor heating on."

She looks down at the floor and surely enough the tiles under her feet are turning cosy warm. She smiles at him as she looks back up.

"Oh, thank you."

He nods and strolls back down the hall, hears the door close, the tap is running and Tony smirks at himself as he makes a mental note that she didn't lock the door. Any hot blooded male temptation that bubbles in his stomach, flows through his veins, telling him he should have a sneak peek is cancelled out by two things; 1. he values his own life, knows she would, and could with her bare hands kill him (he contemplates for a second whether it would be worth it considering that she would be naked and dripping wet...) and 2. the sign of trust she's showing him is making him so proud of both her and himself that he finds himself genuinely not wanting to do anything to take that away. He slumps down onto the sofa in the small living room, flicks through channels on the TV, the volume turned down low and hopes he will be able to stay awake for long enough to catch her emerging from bathroom. He needs to pee, and he has a bag with clean gym clothes in the trunk of his car that he had half forgotten about earlier and he thinks she might appreciate a t-shirt and some boxers to sleep in but doesn't want to leave her alone in the apartment, at least not while she is still in the shower. Gibbs would kill him.

He checks the time on his phone and winces when he realises that he will need a tie tomorrow, mentally goes over the ones he keeps at work with the rest of his changes of clothes there, that goes well with bags under his eyes.

It looks like he will have to catch up on sleep when this is all over.

* * *

"Safe – SAFE house, Zee-vah! Do you wish to be informed of the meaning of the concept of 'safe'?"

Ziva rolls her eyes at him but before she can say something a familiar voice brings their attention to the already filled desk in the bullpen, the early morning sun escaping in through the windows.

"Safe – secure from liability to harm, injury, danger or risk... for example, _a safe place_." McGee reads from his phone screen, before looking up at them, the hint of a smile on his face as he holds up his phone to them showing off the dictionary application on his phone.

"Thank you McGadget!" Tony throws an arm out towards him in a half bow of gratitude before dumping his backpack behind his desk.

"I developed it myself," Tim continues and Tony frowns at him, scepticism etched onto his face mixed with that glint in his eyes that tells, warns, McGee even, that the senior Agent is amused. He is sure he might regret it, but he soldiers on. "The English language is just like any language, or script, I mean really, in a sense it is a code to crack, like HTML or..." he can sense that he's losing the interest of at least half his two-person audience. "I've been tutoring this boy in my building. He's smart really, just bored with the conventional ways of learning so I thought I would make things a bit more technically exciting!"

Tony smiles, straightens his shirt and checks his hair in the reflective glare of his still dead computer screen. "How Mother Theresa of you, McGuidance Counsellor, but you might want to look up the definition of 'exciting' while you're at it."

"Ignore him, McGee, I think it sounds like a very fulfilling way to spend your spare time. I am sure this boy appreciates what you are doing for him."

"Thank you, Ziva." McGee smiles at her and makes a point out of glaring at Tony before returning to his work, or at least he intends to but he's curious now and glances back up at his team mates as their bickering continues. Ziva pulls a change of clothes out of a drawer and stands expectantly in front of Tony's desk – Tim can see that Tony has most certainly noticed but does his best to appear disinterested.

"So?" she promts. "Are you coming downstairs? To change?" and Tony laughs, feigning shock and confusion.

"What? Ohh, I don't think so. This is some sort of trick question, I know it is, and after this morning I think I'd rather stay here, at a safe distance."

Ziva rolls her eyes at him, placing a hand on her hip before, in a surprisingly patient tone, urging for him to wrap up the theatrical show he has going on. "Come on Tony!"

"You nearly shot me!"

"That is not true, I just heard a noise, it woke me up and I did not expect..." she motions towards him with her hand, waiving it around in front of her as she is looking for the right way to approach him. "You surprised me."

"I scared you?" and he looks almost happy at that making her frown.

"Surprised. I did not expect it."

"You did not expect breakfast?"

"Not with you!"

"Aha!" Tony exclaims at that, jumping out of his chair with such force that both McGee and Ziva jump. "Because you were going to shoot me before the pancakes were even done!"

"Pancakes?" McGee looks at Tony and the Senior Field Agent shoots him a quick 'shut up Probie' before striding to the other side of his desk where Ziva is still standing, waiting for him.

"Just drip it Tony!"

"Drop!" Tony calls back at her, before a wide grin grows on his face. "Ha, drip drop..." She returns his smile and he chuckles as he realises, "oh you did that on purpose."

"Wanted to make you smile," she flirts harmlessly and McGee is watching from his desk as Tony magically produces a fresh suit and shirt.

"If the bossman arrives tell him Ziva and I will just be a minute," Tony turns to him and is about to go to the men's room to change out of last nights suit when Tim stops him.

"A minute? You take forever to get ready. You're such a girl!"

"All your girlfriends wear suits worth more than your apartment?" Tony teases back. "You can't just throw one of these babies on Probie! There's an art to it. You have to care, have to respect the suit for it to respect you back. You'd never understand."

"Be nice to McGee, DiNozzo," Gibbs shouts as he suddenly appears, coffee in hand. "While you and Ziva had your slumber party he stayed here working all night."

Tony looks at McGee quickly, and though he doesn't say anything Tim knows, can see it on his face that he's grateful for the extra effort. Tony gives him a small nod, a silent thank you before he trods out of the bullpen to get changed and Ziva smiles at both Gibbs and Tim before following him delivering one of Gibbs' signature head slaps to the back of his head and smiling at Gibbs over her shoulder as she hears him laugh at the sight.

"Thank you!" their leader calls after her and she smirks at Tony as he hisses and rubs the back of his head dramatically.

It isn't long after, when McGee has briefed Tony and Ziva on the Labrador find, and she has assured them all that there was certainly a distinct lack of Labrador at the scene – and yes she's sure despite her attackers wearing ski masks, she is still certain she would have known the difference between a dog and a man, that Gibbs gets the call. They're all deeply engrossed in this mystery dog and Tony is in the middle of explaining his werewolf theory when Gibbs starts barking out orders.

"Get the truck," and "gear up, we a have dead body!" and they all freeze for a moment, normalcy washing over them, and they scramble from their desks to keep up with him as Gibbs steps into the elevator.

* * *

They haven't even reached the body yet when the jokes start. A pair of Italian dress shoes are sticking out from under a low growing grouping of bushes and Tony sighs as they climb the hill.

"Such a shame... whoever the guy is he has great taste."

"How do you know that?" McGee asks and Tony points to the shoes up ahead and all three of them turn to look at him funnily as he can even name the designer brand at an impressive distance.

The sun is shining high up in the sky, all traces of the storm wiped away and Ziva is thankful, doesn't think she could have handled another day of rain. The grass under their feet is still wet and damp from the bad weather though and they have to be careful to not slip as they walk closer. Tony asks what will happen to the shoes after they've solved the case, will they just be thrown out maybe, and she shoots him a disgusted look. He seems to consider the situation, not waiting for anyone to particularly advice him on the situation and Gibbs stops to look at something on the ground as the rest of them closes the final distance between them and the expensive shoes, with attached feet, and, as McGee holds back the branches, man attached to the feet.

"Actually, I don't think I could walk around in a dead man's-" and Tony freezes then. Thinks he might have even forgotten how to breathe and when he finishes his sentence, "shoes..." the word comes out broken and almost with a splutter, like he has just choked on his own word. McGee stares down at the body in front of them and Ziva leans in closer. A sick fog of irony is hanging in the air around them.

"B-Boss..." Tony calls out, his tone giving away not only that he is distressed but also that he is sure he needs no other person in that moment. Gibbs looks up, sees two local officers hovering in the background, babysitting the scene until they're cleared to leave and nothing is as clear to him in that moment than the fact that Tony sounds like Kelly had done, in the middle of the night, when woken up by a nightmare and she needed reassurance, someone she trusted to say it was all going to be okay. He hurries over to them and with McGee still pushing the low branches back they're all gathered around the dead man, looking down at him.

"What was it you said, he has good taste, yes?" Ziva pipes up and Tony just looks at her, a wild look in his eyes, the color draining from his cheeks, before looking back at Gibbs.

"This isn't funny!"

"No..." McGee says, before considering it, "well... it's almost funny."

"Don't you own that suit?" Gibbs asks, looking up at Tony quickly as he crouches down next to the dead man, pulling on gloves.

"Yes." Tony stares down at the man before him. "Yeah... I do." And probably about the same skin tone right now too, a pasty grey.

Ziva narrows her eyes at the not so strange stranger before following suit and crouching down too. She prods the man's face before slipping his eyelid up.

"He has your eyes, Tony," she says. "Or at least, the same eye color. It is very peculiar."

"Of course, he has Tony's everything!" McGee laughs dryly, a bit shocked and a bit scared.

And he did. Tony could not deny it. He wasn't at risk of being his long lost (dead) twin or anything, but the resemblance really was striking and nausea is climbing up his insides then, threatening to bubble up through his throat as Gibbs runs his fingers through the dead man's hair – hair the same color as his, hair styled just like his.

"Oh Anthony," Ducky suddenly emerges behind them, immediately picking up on the resemblance, and Gibbs moves to let him closer. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Tony grimaces and stomps his foot and Gibbs looks almost amused at the oncoming tantrum.

"I am _not_ dead!" he whines and the rest of them doesn't know what's going on either, can't give him what he wants. The man looks so much like him that Ziva can feel her palms going clammy. She swallows hard and tries to concentrate on the fact that her Tony, the real Tony is still alive and breathing. And talking. "Any chance of this being a weird, sick, crazy coincidence?" he wonders out loud and Gibbs looks up at him then, having pulled a drivers license out of the inner pocket of the suit jacket.

"Doesn't look like it DiNozzo," Gibbs says calmly and they all look down at the identification. "Missing something Tony?"

And there it is. _His_ driving license. His face, his date of birth, his address and his signature.

_**To be continued...**_

* * *

**A/N:** Sooo, who has figured it out yet? ;) I said after the last chapter that there are a lot of clues left behind, and this chapter is the same. Some of you might even have put some of them together already and should have a better idea of what this puzzle looks like now.

If you've made it this far, it means you've read this monster of a thing, and I am very thankful. Let me know in a review what your thoughts are! Thank you!


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